


The Undone and the Divine

by I_dont_know_her, Starships



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Fantasy VII, Ancients, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Garlemald - Freeform, Gore, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24515614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_dont_know_her/pseuds/I_dont_know_her, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starships/pseuds/Starships
Summary: “Come with me,” he said, spitting out the last of the blood that had pooled in his mouth. The pain in his shoulder was a radiating, blinding heat; it excited him. He wanted it to excite her, too.She laughed, but it was hard and brittle. “That’s what got you on the ground, dog. I’m not going to your masters with you.”“No masters,” he said, not realizing it was an offer until it left his mouth. “You don’t understand what you are. What you couldbe.”
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	The Undone and the Divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Zenos and Decima](https://imgur.com/a/DIyLr4x)  
> 
> 
> The incredible Lilly White has made our babies come alive ♥ Please go shower her in love, and if you like yourself some serious cronch, check out her Aerith/Seph fic, Border of Taboo.  
>  [Lilly's Tumblr](https://lilly-white.tumblr.com/)  
>  [Border of Taboo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359507/chapters/19149433)

For the first time in his life, Zenos yae Galvus knew he was going to die.

It was novel. He wore gloves of his own blood, and no matter how quickly he scrubbed his hands clean with snow, the split in his abdomen flowed freely. She had… _twisted_ him, somehow, grabbed his insides until something vital had burst and he had opened like a fucking roast. Based on volume, it was his aorta, and based on his inability to stand he didn’t have much time. 

“Leave me _alone_ ,” she hissed, for all the world sounding like a feral, cornered animal. “I want nothing to do with the Empire.”

He coughed, filling his throat with a concerning amount of thick, sticky iron. “You are chosen,” he managed, but even to him it wasn’t convincing. Why did it matter why he was here, when she had so easily bested him? Who was she to concern herself with who gave his orders, towering over him like this?

“We are nothing.” Her toe nudged the edge of his bloodstain, pressing the wet late-season snow into a garish slush. His mind was slowing in time with his blood loss, but even so, it snagged on her use of _we_. “We are not citizens. We have no magic. We are not chosen.”

His mouth split into a smile. “Liar.”

She inched closer, dominating his field of view. She was all the fury of winter above him, and gods, he could not look away. His heart beat to a crescendo, pumping precious seconds of life into the filthy slush, and he could not have cared less. He wished he knew her name -- her real name, not Decima. Not what her mother had used to disguise her scent to Imperial noses.

Had he only known how _magnificent_ she would be when he accepted the assignment— 

“You are _everything_.” He was shocked at how much he meant it.

“To you, maybe. Small man that you are.”

He laughed, but it was more a gurgle that ended in a sucking sound from his lungs. He had never once in his life been called small. 

And yet, he could not stand, while her lithe frame loomed over him. 

Small, indeed. 

Decima considered him for precious, achingly long moments before she knelt by his hip, stretching her fingertips into the gore; the snow melted and steamed as though she herself were molten. When her eyes closed, he realized she was using her magic--the power she ‘did not have’, crawling over his skin like a colony of ants. He had never felt it before—not before today, at least, when she had clenched her tiny fist and shredded some very vital pieces of him. 

Her cheeks and nose were pink from cold, her chest heaving as she breathed deeply to focus. If this were years from now, if he had been of age for Aulus to install the Resonant in him, he could reach back—

His back bowed as though to split in half, and volcanic fire incinerated him from the inside out. It was a flash grenade of blinding pain that ended as quickly as it began, and when he came back to his senses, he could fill his stomach with air. He could breathe, and his lungs didn’t sound wet. 

But his left shoulder was pinned to the frozen earth by the blade of Ame-no-Habikiri, and he had to give her credit: the move was tactically sound. This morning, after his tea and training and laps, after dogging her for hours through these frigid woods, he’d still have been able to slide his body off the blade and slit her throat with it before she even met his eyes. Instead he was faint with blood loss, too young to push back against her Echo, too inexperienced with magic to stop whatever she had done to him.

He understood blood. He understood the job. But in front of him--her merciless gray eyes, sweat frozen hair, spit-slicked lips--he did not understand how badly he needed to ruin everything about her.

Every nerve was on fire, and to add to his catalogue of firsts, Zenos wanted someone.

He held her gaze as he lifted an unsteady hand to rest above his heart. He expected to find his chest flayed somehow, rent by her magics, but was startled to find she had left him whole. A thick rope of tissue knotted together beneath his hand where his stomach wound had been. 

If he was out of his depth before, surely he was a drowning man now, the confusion like shackles around his ankles, dragging him below turbulent waters. 

The Empire had brought him to heel and sent him as their best bloodhound to scent her out. He had followed her trail and pursued her with dogged determination like a good Legatus, spurred on by the thrill of the chase. And once he had her within his grasp, she had bested him without contest. 

It would have been in her best interest to put him down. She should have put him down.

Why hadn’t she? 

Zenos studied her, searching for answers she would not yield. She held his gaze, his only quarry to ever stare him down unafraid. His brow furrowed when he found no answers. He licked his lips, still slick with salt and iron. 

“Why not kill me?” He was hoarse even to his own ear.

Her face briefly crumpled before she schooled herself back to a mask of frigid indifference. She was silent a moment longer, something behind where he lay pinned holding her attention.

“I’m not a killer.”

Foolish girl. He mustered the last vestiges of strength to grip the hilt of Ame-no-Habikiri and readied himself to pull it out of his shoulder. Ozone filled his nostrils, a loud crack echoing in his skull as he was slammed down into the earth, an invisible foot bearing down on his chest and taking the breath from his lungs. The fire in her eyes betrayed her mask; her pupils were blown wide and he wondered what he might look like to her, felled by her own hands. He felt himself get hard.

Not a killer, indeed. She was -- he only had to show her.

“Come with me,” he said, spitting out the last of the blood that had pooled in his mouth. The pain in his shoulder was a radiating, blinding heat; it excited him. He wanted it to excite her, too.

She laughed, but it was hard and brittle. “That’s what got you on the ground, dog. I’m not going to your masters with you.”

“No masters,” he said, not realizing it was an offer until it left his mouth. “You don’t understand what you are. What you could _be_.”

“I know exactly what I am.” She stepped on his shoulder, pressed the toe of her boot in until he heard his own flesh give. “Do you?”

The snowy winds howled and the silence ached. 

He knew what he had been told, by weak and lesser men. He knew that everything he ever wanted was above him, grinding him under her heel. 

He knew she was an Ancient. He knew she protected her mother. 

But those things did not matter, not when she held him to the earth with his own sword, with a wall of her aether that he couldn’t even budge. She was a mountain, and he could not see the peak. 

“I want to,” he said.

Her eyes gleamed, and she trailed them along his body: he was soaked in blood and crusted with ice, but his back was sweating and his pants were tented. He refused to shift or hide— let her see how she thrilled him. Let her see what he could take, what he could give. 

“Finally. Some honesty.”

She turned on her heel to leave, freeing him of her boot but not the heavy press of her magic. He missed the weight of her stare immediately, and began to panic. She was going to leave him there, the storm swallowing her whole — he would howl his rage until the press of her magic vanished, but by then his throat would be raw and the first thing he had ever wanted would be long gone. 

“Wait!”

Decima paused, looking back over her shoulder. Her gray eyes were wide, and for the first time he felt how young she really was. 

How small. 

“I know who _you_ are, Zenos yae Galvus. Come find me when you’re worth fighting.”


End file.
